Thursday the 29th was my four-week checkup after breaking my ankle. I took the day off work and nervously got ready, not knowing what was going to happen once the cast was off. We arrived early and were seen early (seriously, EVERY TIME. This particular Dr’s office operates like a dream) even though the waiting room was PACKED.
The girl started buzzing away at my cast and did a great job of it, slicing through the fiberglass like nothing. Then, she puled it away to reveal my way-too-skinny leg.
Obviously, there’s a part of every person that understands, “Hey, being in a cast encourages muscular atrophy.” But nothing could have prepared me for what my leg would like like. It’s impossible to theorize the feeling until the actual experience. I told a coworker later on, “Half of me is like those emo kids who wear skinny jeans and exist on cigarettes and pain.” I am and always have been quite fond of my calves. They are firm and toned and strong–but no more. *sigh*
However, Dr. K (as I shall henceforth call my orthopedic surgeon) took one look at the X-rays and pronounced them “fantastic!” He twisted my foot up and down, pressed all over my ankle and leg, asked, “Does that hurt?” and everything, remarkably. felt fine. He then instructed me to stay off it for another month and delivered the good news that I was ready for a boot.
They bring this thing in, and heavens, it’s heavy. Dr. K’s assistant showed me how to put it on and take it off, instructed me on proper times to wear and not wear it (no more plastic bags in the shower), etc. I may use this same boot when I am allowed to begin weight-bearing again, as a walking cast.
So here I am today, staring at this boot because I feel like a Transformer or Tron or some weird kind of cyborg. But if it helps, then that’s ok. I’m adjusting slowly to the new weight distribution, and it’s going along pretty well. That’s four weeks down, four more to go.
Preferring Peace 